


Full Circle

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Armageddoff, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: The Antichrist was returning to Tadfield Manor.





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for weeks, trying to work out how to write it, then it all fell out of my head at once :) I love Sister Mary.

Things were finally getting back to normal after the… incident.

The police had been very apologetic about the confusion. The paintball guns had been jolly realistic, they said. Easy mistake to make, especially given the sounds of carnage that had been heard. Best to stick to more traditional-looking paintball guns, eh?

Mary had nodded and smiled, wondering what on earth had happened.

Her memories of the day were a bit scattered, but given how busy it had been, she wasn’t surprised. With so many corporate teams involved and so many faces crossing her path, it was very difficult to keep track of who came in and who went where. Probably some smart Alec smuggling his own specialist gear in. It had happened before, despite the very clearly sign-posted Do’s and Don’ts.

Now, at least, everything was sorted out.

That last big corporation to visit had paid up, muttering that they weren’t sure what had got into them and competitive spirit or some such nonsense. Some man called Nigel was heard gibbering about a monster.

All things considered, Mary thought, it could have been a lot worse.

As a precaution, she decided to focus on a younger demographic. Business people, she had come to realise, could not be trusted not to cause problems. And to stir up some interest, she even had pamphlets posted out to all the neighbouring towns.

That was why it was a terrible shock when a very familiar face walked through the door.

“Good Lord,” the man said. “This place has changed a bit, hasn’t it?”

Mary stared at him, mouth open. The American Ambassador…

“Um. Good afternoon, sir.” She hastily came around from behind her desk, holding out a hand. “Lovely to see you again!”

He gave her a puzzled look, then his expression brightened. “Ah!” He pointed at her. “You were the nun, weren’t you? The one who was here a few years ago? When my wife came in?” He glanced around. “This was a hospital then.”

Mary nodded, trying to remember exactly how one was meant to act around an important political figure. “Yes, your Ambassadorship.”

He frowned at her. “Young,” he corrected. “Arthur Young.”

“Arthur…” Mary swallowed hard. “Yes. Of course. Mr. Young, I mean.” She smiled quickly. “I– I don’t mean to be rude, but what brings you back here?”

The Ambassador sighed. “My son.”

Mary’s legs shook. Yes, that was all a long time ago, but she had held the child, the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness. And now his… well, technically his father, was standing in front of her. _Do you think he’ll remember me when he’s older_ …

“Oh?” Her voice was as steady as she could force it to be.

The Ambassador rooted around in his pocket, then pulled out a tattered piece of paper. It looked like it had been chewed by an animal. “This came through our door, you see.”

Mary stared at it, then at the Ambassador. “That’s one of my adverts.”

“Mm. Most of our village got them.” He gave her a tired smile. “I thought I’d come and see what it was like before he comes with his friends.”

“Comes?” she echoed. “Friends?”

He nodded. “Do you take advanced bookings?”

___________________________________

The Antichrist was returning to Tadfield Manor.

The evening after the Ambassador’s visit, Mary retreated to her small flat at the back of the manor, locked the door and had a stiff drink. Several in fact. You never imagine, she thought, that the folly of youth will come back knocking at the front door eleven years later.

The world hadn’t ended yet. At least, not that she’d noticed. So maybe he wasn’t… ready yet.

Or maybe – and that meant yet another drink – he was getting warmed up, starting where it all began.

A face skimmed across her memory and suddenly, sharply, acutely, she remembered that day. The Incident.

“Master Crowley…” she breathed.

Oh. Oh no. That definitely wasn’t good.

If Master Crowley had come back – and was part of the chaos of the Incident – then Hell’s eyes were still very definitely upon her and the manor.

She almost packed her things there and then. Of course, several strong drinks meant that when she tried to stand up and do it, she promptly fell back over, burst into tears and took refuge in what remained of the bottle.

By morning, she was thinking straight.

Running away wouldn’t do any good.

Master Crowley knew her face and her name.

The Antichrist was… well, he would be omnipotent and wouldn’t be happy if he knew she’d tried to escape. Could he be happy? He was meant to be a demon and demons weren’t really sunshine and buttercup sorts of creatures.

While she could admit she had been a very silly young nun, Mary liked to think she was a rather more sensible businesswoman with a head for numbers and right now, she could clearly see that her numbers were very much up.

Fortunately, the Amb- no, Mr. Young, as he insisted she call him, had made a booking, so she knew exactly when to expect the end of times. It gave her plenty of time to make sure that Jacqueline and Nicky – her current summer staff – were given a day off. If anything was going to happen, they didn’t need to be caught in the cross-fire, as it were. 

When the morning finally came, she dressed to the nines.

What was the point of facing your doom if you couldn’t do it in the one nice Versace knock-off that you got last time you were in Camden? Professional, but with an exciting hemline matched with sensible, but still stylish shoes.

Mr. Young had booked an afternoon slot.

She was beginning to wish he hadn’t.

Morning would have been much more bearable, instead of sitting and watching the clock and waiting for the inevitable hour to strike. The rest of the day was clear as well, which made it so much worse with nothing to distract her. There was only so much paper you could shuffle and accounting you could do before you wanted to scream and throw it out the nearest window.

She ended up out in the grounds, walking through the assault course that filled the bigger part of the courtyard. She’d put so much work into it after the rest of the order abandoned it. She’d turned it around and made something that if not good was definitely profitable and let people air their grievances without anyone getting hurt. What would happen to it afterwards?

Although, she supposed, if the end of times was come, then it wouldn’t really matter.

It was such a lovely day as well.

Mary sighed, sitting down on one of up the overturned oil drums, slipping her feet out of her shoes and wiggling her bare toes in the long grass. Well, at least she got to see a little bit of sunshine and blue sky. A fine way for a world to end. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up towards the sun, only opening them when she heard excited barking.

Before she even had the chance to get her shoes back on, a bundle of black and white fur catapulted into her lap, yapping eagerly, a curly tail wagging frantically.

“Hello!” She couldn’t help smiling in spite of everything. Dogs had always been her weakness, and small excitable ones that vibrated in delight when they were petted were even better. This one was no exception, rolling onto his back and presenting his belly, then wiggling happily as she tickled him. “Where did you come from?”

“Oh, he’s mine.”

Mary glanced up, startled. A golden-haired boy was propping his bike against the wall. “Oh!”

The boy smiled at her. “Dog wanted to come and say hello.”

Dog? She looked down at the dog, which she could swear was grinning at her. “And he’s a lovely boy, isn’t he?” She scratched his belly again, making the dog flail with excitement. “Yes, you are. You’re a lovely boy.”

The boy wandered closer. “Is this the paintball place?” he asked, looking around.

“It is,” Mary said, sitting up when Dog collapsed, huffing contentedly at her feet, tail thumping against the side of the barrel like a drum. “It used to be for businesses, but I thought it might be more fun for people your age.”

He turned with a grin. “It looks wicked!”

A shame, she thought, that he’d never get the chance to use it. She glanced at her watch quickly. Still an hour before… He was due to arrive.

“I can show you around, if you like?” She got to her feet. “I might even be able to find one of the guns for the target range.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? That’d be brilliant!”

Mary hadn’t spent much time around children, but as she showed the boy around, she was starting to see what she’d missed out on. Business people only saw combat situations in the assault course. Kids saw excitement and fun and the boy was beaming from ear to ear when she brought out one of the bigger paintball guns for him.

“Will it make a mess on me?” he asked, hesitating before he touched it.

“It shouldn’t,” she assured him. “Normally, you’d get overalls to wear, but that’s only if people are going to be shooting at you.”

The boy nodded happily. “Mum wouldn’t be happy if I got paint all over me.” He held up the gun. “How does it work?”

Mary adjusted it in his grip. “Now,” she said, pointing towards the row of four paint-spattered barrels. They were about two feet apart. “Try a couple of shots and see if you can hit them.”

It took him a couple of tries, but then the pellet of paint exploded in a splash of red, panging against the metal drum.

“Brilliant!” His face lit up. “How many shots do I get?”

She smiled. “I tell you what,” she said, “you can have as many shots as you like. It’s a quiet day. I don’t have any bookings until later on.”

He looked like all his Christmases had come at once. He lifted the gun back up and took careful aim. This time, the ball exploded on the drum first time. “Pepper’s gonna be so jealous! She wanted to come with me, but her mum said she had to get her hair cut first.”

“A friend of yours?”

The boy nodded. “She’s the best fighter out of all my friends. I bet she’ll be brilliant.”

Mary had to admit she felt a bit of feminist pride at that. Always nice to see a young man who could appreciate the talents – especially in combat – of a young woman.

Pang. Pang. Pang.

He managed to splatter each drum, whooping excitedly with every one. “Can I try another colour?” he asked eagerly. “I can make a pattern!”

It was silly how easily he’d brushed away all the worries that had been sitting on her shoulders, but he had and she nodded. “You stay here. I’ll fetch a couple more canisters for you. We can mix them up if you want.”

He nodded happily, returning his attention to firing at the barrels.

They were still at the range an hour later when she heard a car on the gravel of the driveway. The boy didn’t notice, too busy finishing the pattern of stripes he had spattered across the four barrels, but Mary turned, her heart sinking.

“You should probably stop now,” she said apologetically. “I have a group booked and I don’t think they’ll be the kind of people who want extra company.”

The boy looked up at her, then frowned. “Are you all right? You don’t look very happy about it?”

Mary forced a smile. “Oh, just some old friends,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. Really, she should have sent him off long ago, but it had been… nice to watch a little boy laughing and having fun. It had been a distraction, true, but a pleasant one. “Sorry you couldn’t finish your pattern.”

He held out the gun to her. “I can finish it later,” he said, smiling. “I’ll go and get my bike.”

Before she could warn him to leave by the side gate, he ran off around the side of the building towards the assault course. Mary set the gun down and followed. Her heart was thumping against her ribs and her mouth felt bone dry as she came around the side of the house.

It was Mr. Young, right on time. He was standing beside his car and…

And he was glaring sternly down at the boy and Dog.

Mary almost managed to trip herself in her confusion, gravel skittering underfoot.

“Ah! Miss Hodge!” Mr. Young looked over. “I see this little rascal decided to make his way over on his own.” The boy gave her an unrepentant grin from behind the man. “I hope he hasn’t been causing any trouble.”

“No,” she managed to say, staring at him. “No trouble at all.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. How do you know him?”

Mr. Young looked as surprised as she felt. “Oh! Yes. Of course.” He motioned the boy closer, Dog bounding around their ankles happily. “You wouldn’t recognise him, of course. He’s grown a bit since the last time he was here.” He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “This is my son, Adam.”

The Antichrist gave her a wide smile and a little wave.

“Oh,” said Mary.

She wasn’t quite sure how she ended up sitting on the ground, but she did, still blinking mutely as the – the boy – the Antichrist – crouched down beside her, worry all over his face. His father was babbling something about heat stroke and dehydration and went rushing into the building.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded warily, staring at him. “You’re… it– him, I mean.”

“Ahhhh.” A wince of understanding crossed his face. “Yeah. That.” He shrugged. “I got better.”

Mary stared. “You were the Antichrist and you… got better?”

He nodded, beaming at her. “Dad liked your biscuits,” he said. “He always remembered them. Every time we had that kind of biscuit, he says that’s where he got my name. The nice lady with the biscuits.”

“Biscuits,” she echoed. “I don’t understand. I mean, not about the biscuits, but…” She shook her head helplessly.

Adam – oh, yes, she helped them choose the name – laughed. “It’s easier not to think about it,” he said, smiling. He looked up as his father hurried out of the building, a mug of water in his hands. “Can I go and finish my pattern now?”

She could only nod, gratefully accepting the cup of water from Mr. Young.

“I do hope he didn’t cause you any trouble,” Mr. Young – oh, so definitely not an American ambas… oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Mary’s world swam for a moment. Oh _dear_. If he wasn’t the American ambassador but someone from a nearby village then the baby she’d… oh _no_.

But… but nobody had noticed. Nobody had come after her. Or noticed. And the Antichrist was a sweet, nice boy who had a lovely dog.

“Oh, no!” She finally remembered to speak, and saw the relief on Mr. Young’s face. “He’s a very good boy. Very polite.”

Mr. Young smiled bashfully. “Well,” he said. “He has his moments.” There was another pang and a whoop from the far side of the building and his father sighed. “Adam!”

Mary raised a hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “I said he could.”

Said he could…

The Antichrist had _asked_ her for permission…

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mr. Young said. He sounded very worried as he helped her back to her feet. “You look a bit… out of it.”

When she smiled, it was with more feeling than she’d felt for days. The Antichrist hadn’t come back to Tadfield Manor to begin the end of times. He’d come because he was a little boy who wanted to have fun. And if fun was what the boy formerly-known-as-the-Antichrist wanted, then she could give it to him in spades.

“I’m fine,” she said. “More than fine, in fact.” She beamed at him. “We should go and get some overalls ready. You said he was bringing some friends?”

“Ah! Yes. They should be arriving shortly.”

Mary nodded, the relief breath-taking. “Wonderful. I can’t wait to meet them.” She drank some of the water, then handed back the cup. “If you’d like to help yourself to tea, the canteen is on the right of the reception.” She paused, then laughed. “I even have some biscuits. Ones with pink icing.”

Mr. Young laughed. “Some things don’t change, do they?”

And some things, Mary thought, glancing in the direction the boy had gone, really do.


End file.
